


F is for Fruit Loop

by sg_wonderland



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alphabet Soup Challenge, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 03:26:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15427998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg_wonderland/pseuds/sg_wonderland
Summary: F is for Fruit Loop, written for Jack Alpha-Bits





	F is for Fruit Loop

**Author's Note:**

> Although Jack offers to hit Daniel several times, no archaeologists were harmed in the writing of this fic. Much.....

I hear Daniel try unsuccessfully to smother a laugh as we watch the tape of our initial encounter with the entity. “Dr. Jackson,” I ask with studied care, “is there something you wish to share with the rest of the class?”

“No, sir, Colonel O’Neill,” his voice is trembling, his eyes are wide, not with fear, but mirth.

At this point, even Teal’c coughs into his hand, the big traitor. Hammond pretends to consult his notes, Daniel gives me the big innocent eyes and Fraiser studiously ignores all of us.

Since Carter’s still in the infirmary, this debriefing is mercifully short. If, that is, you don’t count Daniel’s snide comments about the size of my, well, size.

General Hammond dismisses us and Teal’c scampers quickly after Fraiser, murmuring something about also checking on Major Carter. Daniel, however, has appropriated the remote control and rewinds to the very spot he wants. “Jack,” he waves the remote at me. “Sit here with me and let’s watch this.”

“You want me to sit here, calmly, while you point out that I might need to go up a uniform size?” I’m so shocked that I find myself falling into a seat.

“Unfortunately, the evidence is all right there,” he hits the remote and I hear myself asking if I look fat. “You said so yourself.”

“I think, therefore I am?” I ask him incredulously.

“Descartes was probably onto something, don’t you think?” He probes gently.

“I think I ought to slug you right in the mouth, therefore, I will.” I jump to my feet and stomp to the door, fully expecting him to follow. I glare over my shoulder at him, only to see his puzzled gaze, zeroing in on a certain part of my anatomy. “Hey, that’s rude!” I whip around, planting my butt against the railing.

“Jack, Jack,” he carefully puts the remote down and walks over to pat my arm sympathetically. “It’s your own fault, really.”

“Because?” I shove him in front of me down the steps; no way do I want him walking behind me.

“You cannot continue to eat a sugary children’s cereal for breakfast and hope to retain your girlish figure.” I am so gonna hit him. Just as soon as we get somewhere I can do so without getting caught on camera. Grabbing his arm, I drag him into my office and shove him in the door.

“If you suggest I need to go on a diet, I’ll black both your eyes,” I promise him.

“Jack,” he offers with a somewhat sincere expression, “do you know that most of those cereals have something like 12 grams of sugar per serving. Not that what you eat comes close to a serving, more like four or five servings.” He leans over my desk and snags a pen and paper. “Okay, that’s 60 grams per day and you were looping for like ninety days so that’s 5400 grams. I wonder how many grams it takes to gain a pound?” He starts to stand up, muttering to himself about whole milk versus skim.

“I swear, if you Google that, I will kill you where you sit, I don’t care about the cameras. I’ll confess and happily do my time in prison.”

“Jack,” he blinks up at me. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“No, you’re trying to yank my chain and you’re doing a good job of it.” I grumble as I flop down in my chair, sadly contemplating my rapidly spreading figure.

He clears his throat as he stands up, cautiously sidles to the door. “I don’t care what they say about you, Jack, I still love you.”

The well aimed tennis ball hits him precisely between his departing shoulder blades. He yelps as he stumbles out the door.

*

He pretends not to notice the next morning when I sit down with my bowl of oatmeal, whole wheat toast and packets of fake sugar, butter and jelly.


End file.
